Wednesday January 12, 1977

Miss Braithwaite, or 'CB'.

Have a damnable headache but I'm not sure it's a hangover. Blimey, did I have all that lqiuid refreshment last night? No, I didn't. Out tonight with Miss Christine Braithwaite, spinster of the parish of Horsforth. But first, a family gathering. I went to John and Maria's at 5.30 to find Maria dashing off to a recital, and Molly and Jim were just arriving too. John, Molly, Jim and I have tea together whilst baby JPH gurgles and vomits on the settee. The little fellow is becoming heavy. Jim brings me up home at 8, and by 8.35 I'm down Thorpe Lane and lodged in the Hare. CB and I have one drink and then go to Neville's [Ilkley] for a bottle of wine and then the Fish Dish for one of each. CB tells me a tale of woe indeed. What a changed person she is. She's not drinking to excess any more and has a much 'quieter' outlook. She was quite ill before Christmas and the sordid New Year hasn't helped at all. She is a great friend. CB could never be anything else. However, I fear she's obsessed with death. She kept saying she has a feeling inside that she won't 'be around' [i.e. alive] next Christmas! What an awful thing? I couldn't stand life without CB to make me laugh. She says that she won't look at a man again unless his pockets are crammed with cash, has a villa in Capri and an E-type Jag parked on his Georgian-style driveway. God Almighty! -==-